Tag: fiction

He’d been wandering around the confines of this shop for ages, yet still he was no further on. Not the best at making decisions, the £5 note was burning a hole in Alfie’s pocket.

There was plenty of choice and variety, yet so far nothing had caught his eye, the programs on television made it seem much easier than this.

A tad frustrated he headed towards the back of the shop where he had spied a cabinet advertising all items for £3. Sure enough, on the second shelf he spotted what looked like a mechanical fish, which had clearly seen better days. Lifting a magnifying glass from the same shelf, he studied its bulging eyes, which seemed to contain some kind of weird code.

Loving a puzzle he headed to the front of the store, ‘How much for the fish with chips?’ he asked the antiques seller, laughing at his own joke.

Some people have asked about other stories involving Polly Carmichael, this was by far her most exciting escapade, so as requested I am reposting. Apologies if you have read it before.

“Polly Carmichael you are not going Trick or Treating dressed as a sock, and that is the end of it! What on earth has possessed you anyway girl, I’ve told you that you can have any outfit you want and you choose to go as a sock. Honestly, you and your imagination, it causes me nothing but trouble.”

Mrs Carmichael was not impressed and neither was a frustrated Polly, who with crossed arms, pouted throughout her Mothers lengthy tirade.

“But Mama I…….”

“But Mama nothing young lady, where on earth did you get this foolish idea?”

Looking anywhere but at her Mother, Polly whispered “Patricia.”

“Patricia who? The lady who runs the wool shop at the end of the street, Lemon Lime Follies?”

“Yes Mama.”

“Well at least I know you are safe when you are there, but what have I told you about walking on the road unaccompanied and what is it with your sudden fascination for socks, I just don’t understand!”

Ah, there it was, the question that Polly dreaded most of all.

How could Polly explain to her Mother about the wonderful lady in the shop who made knitting fun and told amazing stories of far away lands, dragons and ghosts. Who made the socks she knitted dance by the glow of the fire with her magic knitting needles as she served up delicious buns and sweets to be munched upon.

She had to go tonight and she had to be a sock!

For the last three months a secret war had been waging in drawers all throughout the sleepy little village of Cosy Toe, unbeknown to any of it’s inhabitants.

Sabrina De La Fibrè, on moving to the village had spotted a gap in the market for manufacturing socks. Patricia could knit, boy could she, but her socks were mischievous and caused no end of trouble during their creation. Although funny and harmless, their high jinx meant supply could not currently meet demand. Sabrina, a clever and calculating witch, wheedled her way into the towns good graces and became the number one supplier with her bright colours, bold designs and catchy slogans. However unlike the woolen socks born in the shop which were crafted with love and care, Sabrina’s synthetic fibres were laced with the misery that radiated from her cold dark heart!

On Halloween night they were going to dance anyone who wore them straight into the river to be carried away forever.

“Okay Mama, I will wear last years costume if you will just let me leave now, the festivities have already started” begged Polly.

“Oh for goodness sake off you go, but we shall continue this conversation. Do not be late!”

Polly grabbed the costume from the chair and moved forward like she was heading to get changed, but as soon as her mother turned away she darted out through the back door and ran as fast as she could all the way to Lemon, Lime, Follies.

Patricia was already at the door and ushered her in, checking up and down the street to make sure she had not been seen. Giving her a warm hug and brushing the hair from Polly’s eyes she said “You all set?”

“Yep” said Polly with a smile and a salute, before climbing into the sock costume laid out in front of the fire.

Patricia lifted a basket from the table, lined with quilted fabric and as soft as a feather, set it on the floor, and proceeded to let out the loudest whistle Polly had ever heard in her life. A chorus of squeals and whee’s of delighted echoed all through the room as hundred of little socks emerged from the shadows, running, bouncing and somersaulting, before eventually diving into the basket.

“Be good little one’s,” Patricia whispered before handing them to Polly. “And to you child, best of luck. I have added extra love into the costume to keep you safe. We don’t have much time, so hurry along.”

Stepping out into the cold, Polly headed towards the town, keeping her head down and avoiding all the glances from the other trick or treaters. She could hear giggling and knew it was at her costume, but resolute she marched on knowing that she would have the last laugh tonight, god willing.

As she approached the town, she became aware of someone making a speech. Hurrying closer she realised it was none other than Sabrina De La Fibrè herself, courting the crowd who had become unusually sombre considering this was supposed to be a celebration. All at once, as if on cue the crowd turned and started to walk towards the river.

“Where are you going Jaded?” she asked the girl who had just become Poet Laureate. No reply. Polly tugged her sleeve trying to gain some sort of response. Nothing, nothing at all. With dead pan faces the crowd continued to march. The only sound that split the night was the evil laughter of the witch.

Knowing the time was now, Polly ran to the front of the crowd and setting the basket on the ground shouted to all the little socks to get to work. With yelps of glee and jumps for joy the little socks began to surround the villagers, encompassing them in a circle. The larger socks drew together to form a platform onto which Polly gingerly stepped. Clearing her throat she recited the words that Patricia had taught her:

Attention feet of all who stand,
Do you know to where you roam
You seem to be heading for the river,
when you really should be going home.

The evil lady tricked you,
There is a darkness at your feet,
feel how weary your legs are,
Would you not rather have a seat.

Remember the days of woolen socks
when your feet felt warm and safe,
not like that new material
that makes you itch and chafe.

Take off your socks and sit a while,
rest your weary heads,
and when you are feeling more refreshed,
head home wards to your beds.

One by one the townspeople fell to the ground, as if in deep slumber, smiles upon their content faces. The little socks jumped up and down with delight, until that is, they saw the witch approaching with a face like thunder.

Banding together they formed lines in front of Polly, a little army protecting it’s precious cargo.

The witch sneered and laughed, “Do you think you can stop me! NOTHING can stop me!!”

“Do you think so” roared the little socks as they started to unravel, joining and growing, binding and making the strongest rope the world had ever seen. Moving forward they started at the witches feet and wove a path up her body encasing her in a tight cocoon, so tight in fact she could not even scream. On and on they worked until not even an inch of her could be seen. Then they started to sing and squeeze. Polly could not hear the words, but the tune made her feel relaxed and happy, as the little socks squeezed and squeezed until eventually the wicked witch exploded into a million pieces that fell to the ground like black snow.

Polly felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Patricia standing behind her. “Well done Polly, I knew you could do it, you certainly knocked the socks off them all!”

“Nothing is ever as easy as it looks” said Polly with a wry smile, “how do we know which is the right book?”

“What about the little doll could it hold the key, it looks like it is mechanical?” said Teddy.

Polly lifted the little statue and studied it quizzically. “There’s no key”.

“So turn her backwards, twist her or something, it’s just a doll.”

“Teddy, SHE is not just a doll, how would you like it if I said you were JUST a teddy bear and I twisted you, around the neck!”

“Fair point” mumbled Teddy realising he was beaten.

Suddenly and without warning the little statue began to turn and strange music filled the air. “What’s happening?” exclaimed a startled Polly, “How is it moving?”

“It’s magic” said the little doll. “If you want to find the key, you need to learn your ABCs”. Such was Polly’s fright that she dropped the little doll, who shattered into a million pieces on the floor.

” Well that was weird” said Teddy, “but at least now we know which book we’re looking for” he said pointing to the shelf.

In the week or so when I didn’t feel like writing, or felt I had nothing to write about, I went wandering through blogsphere looking for inspiration. I came across the Daily Post writing challenge and thought, oh ello, I’ll have a bit of that. It’s been a long time since I have written any fiction, excluding May Dupp that is, she’s a law onto herself.

The challenge involved picking both a photograph and a first line, before letting your imagination take over and for some reason I wanted to use my character Polly Carmichael again.

It’s a big world out there. Those were the words engraved on the back of the compass.

Polly Carmichael sat on a wooden seat. The wooden seat was in front of a tall building that gave poor Polly a crick in her neck as she tried to count the floors for the umpteenth time.

Teddy sat beside Polly Carmichael on the wooden seat. He too had a crick in his neck from looking up at Polly, who was looking up at the building counting the floors for the umpteenth time.

Passers by looked at the strange combination of the young girl and her Teddy bear sitting on the wooden bench.

“Why are we here Polly?” asked Teddy.

“Because this is where the compass brought me” said Polly holding it towards Teddy so he could see.

That was as far as I got. For two days I wracked my brain trying to think of a punchline around which I could build my little story, but nothing came and I was disappointed, because although I am not too good at it, I quite enjoy penning some fiction.

That’s why I like the May Dupp site, I can craft a life around her that is infinitely more exciting than my own and make her do things that I would never dream of, although to be fair I would be afraid of making her bungee jump lest she broke a nail.

I used to like the Daily Prompt’s, but more often than not these days, I look at them and think what the feck is that all about. I used to love the ‘Okay What If’ weekly challenge, but time was a factor and it was difficult to enter every week.

Perhaps one day out of the blue I will just start to write little works of fiction again and we can all find out what happened to Polly and Teddy and the mysterious compass!

So it appears I have been approaching this blogging malarkey in completely the wrong way. My lack of posts while not really causing me any great concern, has been a niggle at the back of my mind.

I was chatting to Big Bertha from work about it the other day whilst having a cup of tea and a soggy jammy dodger. It took a while for it to sink in with her what I was actually referring to as for the first 15 minutes of the conversation she though I was telling her I was boggin. For those of you who have no idea what this actually means, wonder no more:

Boggin

putrid; grotesquely ugly or disturbing; vile smelling

You can understand, can you not, why I was a little bit annoyed at her believing I would ever refer to myself like this. I may not be perfection, but I spend a lot of money at the beauticians to ensure I am far from boggin..ffs! You will just have to believe me when I tell you there is not a spiders leg in sight!!

I happened to mention to Bertha about my lack of posts and she asked how often I do write, to which I replied only when something momentous happens. It was then that I started to think about it and realised that if I sit around waiting for something momentous to happen then I may in fact never write again. In the grand scheme of momentous, my life is a little more mmmm and most certainly lacking in entous!

Bertha said I can write about whatever I want, whenever I want, stressing that there was bound to be some eejit on the world wide wotsit who would be willing to listen. I never thought of it that way before, that I could write about the normal day to day, I thought I had to wait for the days when I was exceptionally fabulous!

You’ll never guess what happened last night. Go on ask me, I know you want to. You’ll never guess though. I only went on a date ffs, as in a real live date, he was breathing and everything, total bonus.

I met him through a girl in work, ok when I say met, what I mean is we trawled through pictures in her mobile phone of every male she knows and I selected him. Wine had been consumed so it was more like a drunken stabbing and a slurred ‘he’ll do fine’.

In hindsight deciding to pole dance on New Years Eve was not one of my better ideas, neither was using a lamp post as a substitute for the pole. But the straw that broke the camels back was the fact I picked a traffic island slap bang in the middle of Shaftsbury Square as my stage.

It is true what they say, ‘when the drink’s in, the wit is out.’ I will be forever grateful to the policeman some kind member of the public sent to assist me, for sharing that little gem of wisdom, although I still think his use of handcuffs was unjustified. Was it my fault he walked into my handbag just as I was preparing to land.

By the time 1am came I had been separated from the other members of my party posse. Happily drunk, but not to the point where I had no clue about the where, what and whys, I experienced a rush of self satisfaction when I made it into the kebab shop and was able to successfully place an order. A large kebab on pitta, all the trimmings, no sauce. Had I realised at that time that about 15 minutes later I would be using most of it to accessorize my rather delightful outfit, I might have just ordered a chip instead. Thinking about it now, that may have been why the lamp post was so slippery.

It was at this point I saw my friend Onda Poole, one of the aforementioned posse. She was halfway up a dark alley and looked to be in the midst of a struggle. Shouting her name I headed, I was going to say straight across the street, but it was more of a zig zag. Her hand moved in what I, at the time perceived to be a ‘come help me’ gesture, but the closer I got I realised it was meant to be more of a ‘feck off’ one. It seemed for my good friend there was more than kebab on the menu that night.

Never one to be outdone I spied the lamp post and seizing the opportunity to grab the attention of not only Onda and he with the wandering hands, but of everyone in the street, I started to climb. It seemed like such a good idea at the time and was certainly a crowd pleaser as everyone was laughing at with me. A few even started to clap their hands.

Egged on by the support I was receiving I inched my way further up the post. It was bloody freezing and I remember thinking to myself how glad I was to have worn the granny pants I had received from my Mammy at Christmas.It’s not easy trying to scale something the same size as Mount Everest whilst keeping your dignity in check. Apparently I failed as there was a roar of laughter from the crowd right after I heard some wee hood shout ‘Nice knickers!.’

It was at this point that things started to unravel, quite literally. As I turned to give the body attached to the voice a two fingered salute, Istarted, against my will might I add, to slide down the post. Unfortunately my woolie Christmas jumper decided to remain attached and snagged onto a huge (honestly it was) hook that I had thankfully avoided on both my ascent and now rapid descent.

It was also around this time I spotted the approaching policeman and in an attempt to distract Onda from her game of tonsil tennis and gain some much needed help I started to frantically wave my arms. I now understand why blokes call us ‘birds’, because I looked just like a mental seagull, flapping and squawking atop a lamp post.

Of course I tipped backwards and of course I was still turning at the time and of course my handbag was in my hand and in full flight when that silly policeman decided to walk into it. Now at the bottom, someone from the crowd helped me to my feet whilst copping a cheeky feel of my ample backside and there I stood, red faced and in a half top that made me look like a reject from that band Pepsi and Max, no wait that’s a drink, Pepsi and Shirlie.

A heated debate followed,with the attending Constable, as I tried to blame everyone, including the kitchen sink for the events of the evening. Even Onda, whose lips looked like they had gone 3 rounds with a plunger, came over to offer what I thought was going to be assistance. Instead she bid me a fond farewell, muttering that I had really done it this time.

The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur, I think I fell asleep as soon as they put me in my cell, but I did get a ride in a police car! :)

The last couple of days I’ve been working on my idea for my fictional character. I have a name, a banner and half of the first post done, so hopefully before too long you will be able to see it for yourselves.

I have a few people to thank though, without whom I would not have been able to get this random and probably ridiculous idea off the ground.

Lee from Geeky and Freaky who no matter how random my ideas are always supports and encourages me.

Paul from Nugs 321 who slags me off, but still manages to help with all my banner woes as he does. I find the pictures and he brings it all together with awesome text and details. If you need a new banner he can be contacted via his Facebook page HERE. He’s not too much of a diva and charges reasonable rates, unless like me you’re one of his best friends and he owes you a few favours! Ladies, he’s available and will offer discount if you flirt. Gentlemen, I don’t think that will work for you to be honest, but you’re welcome to try.

I had put out a request on my last post to see if anyone had some ideas for a name for this new creation of mine. I wanted to make sure that no one was in any doubt this was a fictional character so I was essentially looking for a name to reflect that. I had a couple of good suggestions, especially Belinda Loggins (Bloggins) from El Guapo and Fictitious Franz from Green Embers. However there was one, that for me stood out above all the rest because it perfectly summed up what I was trying to do. Steve from Steve Says.. came up with ‘May Dupp’, so simple yet so effective and it is the one I have chosen to use! Thanks to you all for your assistance and participation, and well done Steve :)

I spoke to Udders on Thursday too and informed her that there was a chance she would be my sidekick in a few posts. I challenged her to come up with a name for herself. After many colourul and some explicit suggestions which I had to reject on the basis that I like the G ish rating my blog has, she settled on the name Onda, as in Onda Pull. I may have rolled my eyes, but I also laughed.

So all the posts for the fictional May Dupp will have their own banner and there will be a new category for her also.

I can only wish that my life was as fabulous and exciting as hers will hopefully be….fingers crossed!

Polly Carmichael had to face facts, she was lost. Unbelievably and hopelessly so!

The white corridor ahead seemed to stretch on for ever and ever, but was it an entrance or an exit, she had no idea.

From behind came the dull murmur of voices. Someone was crying, heartbreaking sobs, but she was no longer inclined to head that way, something, some force was nudging her forwards.

Unsteady, she placed her small hand against the cool walls, and gingerly took a step forward.

“There are only three things you need to remember Polly if you are to venture out, a compass, a torch and a coat. That is all you will ever need,” wasn’t that what her father had told her.

Looking down at her nightdress and fluffy slippers she sighed. “I am unprepared Papa,” she whispered into thin air. “I have no compass, and I am cold.”

Steadily, one foot in front of the other, she made her way along the corridor, hardly daring to breathe, certainly not looking down.

Just as she was starting to feel a little more sure of herself, Polly’s foot hit against something hairy. With a gasp and a squeak she stopped dead in her tracks.

“Ouch”, came a gruff little voice from below, “will you watch where you’re going!”

“Teddy? Teddy is that you?”

“Polly? What on earth are you doing here?” replied a bemused little voice.

“Oh Teddy, I am so glad to see you. I’m lost, which must mean you are lost, so we’re both lost, and Papa is going to be very cross because I have neither a coat nor a compass. What are we going to do?”

“Erm, not panic for starters.”

“But Teddy, don’t you see………”

Polly’s sentence was cut short because right at that very moment the sound of very loud footsteps could be heard, footsteps that seemed to be getting closer.

Polly paled, and looking down with frightened eyes addressed the equally as frightened bear, “Teddy, it’s a giant, we need to hide, NOW!!”

Bending down she scooped Teddy into her arms, “Hold on tight,” she whispered, preparing to run.

Turning on her heel, she was stopped dead in her tracks by a large booming voice in the distance, “Polly, are you lost in your daydreams again? For goodness sake girl, I asked you to put the kettle on half an hour ago!”